


WAS REBORN, FREE TO SCRAWL

by SILKCUT



Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [20]
Category: Before Watchmen (Comics), Watchmen (2009), Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inscribed by SILKCUT, Rorschach's Journal, Twitter Solo Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SILKCUT/pseuds/SILKCUT
Summary: From the corner of my eye, I saw a grasshopper lurching forward at an incoming dragonfly. It flew close to the ground, easy enough of a target. And as the insects frolicked to death, the teacher said, "You don't need to come to class today."I asked him why not. He stared at me with a look I've only ever seen once--back when they first took me in.  He said, "Walter, your mother just died."And I think I said, "Good."
Relationships: Dan Dreiberg & Rorschach
Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132040
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

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Ｗａｌｔｅｒ Ｊｏｓｅｐｈ Ｋｏｖａｃｓ

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## Ｓｅｐｔｅｍｂｅｒ １６, １９６５

##  **༻✧**

I still remember the day when they told me she was dead.  
  
Dragonflies and grasshoppers began to infest the small pond behind the dormitory. I blame it on the boys who hunted and killed the frogs to extinction. It upset the ecosystem. No predators meant they just kept breeding and dropping larvae wherever they please.  
  
I was sitting just several feet away from this and reading new verses. On my feet was a stack of books; Kant, Aquinas, Woolf and Browning. I can recall what they were because I've spent the entire summer studying the first two and perusing the other two for leisure.  
  
A teacher found me hours later, close to noon, and told me all about the sad news.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Walter," he said afterwards.  
  
I just sat there with my Bible. He must have expected a response so he went on to give more details.  
  
"They found her in South Bronx, by an alleyway. The police thinks that her pimp did it."  
  
I don't know what he wanted from me. I raised my eyes from the book I was reading. Shouldn't that be enough?  
  
"There's a grief counselor you can talk to."  
  
From the corner of my eye, I saw a grasshopper lurching forward at an incoming dragonfly. It flew close to the ground, easy enough of a target. And as the insects frolicked to death, the teacher said, "You don't need to come to class today."  
  
I asked him why not. He stared at me with a look I've only ever seen once--back when they first took me in. He said, "Walter, your mother just died."  
  
And I think I said, "Good."  
  
Good for mama. But why can't I go to class? I didn't have to ask that again because his face spelled it out. He looked at me with pity, maybe some disdain. But also fear. He wasn't my favorite teacher anyway, so I didn't care.  
  
I remember this day only because I saw that man again yesterday. He brought in his niece for a fitting. Wedding dress. She was short, reeked of flowers and wore a blouse with no sleeves. Freckles blotched the skin on her forearms.   
  
She talked. A lot. Told me about her future spouse in ways mundane and grating. I was the only who could measure her because one tailor was out sick and the other was still on lunch break. Otherwise, I wouldn't have gone out front.  
  
Teacher recognized me as soon as they came in. Told his niece what I was like back in Lillan. Said I was so promising, so polite. Obviously did not peg I'd end up in manual labor. Little did he know what I've made out of my life. That I've actually made a friend.  
  
He wasn't content to just go on his way and pulled me aside so we can rehash the past. Again, about my dead mother. A confounding premise for a conversation, but Daniel has always told me I should work on my people skills. This should qualify as that.   
  
Teacher told me the name. Pimp was a man called George Paterson. Never found guilty for killing mama.  
  
It wasn't hard to find him. I'm writing this in the hole-in-the-wall he calls an apartment. There's a junkie passed out by the couch next to me. Didn't want to make it awkward so I let her sleep it off.   
  
From this angle, she looked no older than fifteen. Probably the case. Dots on her wrist reminded me of the freckles on that bride-to-be. Two women, one vulnerable to love and the other corroded by lust.  
  
A pity. Will have to bring her in for solicitation later. Someone at a shelter might give her an actual bed to sleep on for a night or two before it's back to the streets. Hard knock life for everyone.  
  
Moths swarmed the only working fluorescent light in this room, as weeks-old semen, puke and stale sweat coated every surface. Not even dust would linger. The polluted pond back in Lillian smelled like roses compared to Paterson's hole.  
  
I dropped newspapers on the spot where I'm sitting. Any moment now and that door will open. I brought something special for him. From the shop. Shears like this kind can cut through metal sheet.   
  
I do my best work at night.  
  
Will bring him in to be processed by cops, but only for possession of drugs and fornicating with a minor. I'll leave his thumbs for identification. The rest won't matter.

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**[@STOODNFIRELIGHT](https://twitter.com/stoodnfirelight) **

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	2. Chapter 2

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Ｗａｌｔｅｒ Ｊｏｓｅｐｈ Ｋｏｖａｃｓ

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## Ｓｅｐｔｅｍｂｅｒ １９, １９６５

##  **༻✧**

I already live in subpar conditions, but even so I'd still think twice when sleeping in a room with rats. A substantial amount of mothballs don't always do the trick. Had to find out from a chemist one day that naphthalene doesn't deter rodents the same way it does with insects.   
  
So I've been using the extra closet space in Daniel's basement to store most of the more important garments.  
  
Something in the air and water made the rodents meaner and hungrier than the average mice. Typical, really. You'd expect plague carriers to be resilient; to mutate and thrive. If it wasn't such a personal inconvenience, I would have allowed their swarm to grow in numbers.   
  
Maybe what this city needs is another plague.  
  
Don't want my room to be ground zero, however.  
  
The furried diseases in my living space have a grudge against any human they encounter, that much is obvious. I caught three the other night and placed them all inside a plastic bowl with a lid. Poked a few holes there not because I believe in small acts of kindness. Only wanted to see how long it will take before they cannibalize each other.  
  
Five hours in, and two of them had ganged up against the one. Wasn't home to see gruesome rat-on-rat murder. Might have been a better use of my time.  
  
Patrol in the last two days was a drought, but I take what little satisfaction I can get in finding thugs, and putting the fear of God where there was only a heroin-doused gaping hole in lieu of a conscience.  
  
Daniel often thinks I go overboard. He'd then attempt to appease me with platitudes about the human condition--how people are inherently decent and aspire to correct mistakes and injustices even if it's just within the scope of their lives.   
  
Never have held it against him how he's lived such a sheltered life before, but it behooves to know that he's a good man who'd rather turn a blind eye to what is ugly yet true about people.   
  
An irony that could amuse, considering that his chosen creature has better eyesight than most avians.   
  
I wish sometimes he can see what I see. Feel the thick, adhesive sensation of evil slathered in the pores like germs you can't simply scrub off. Look at the men we apprehend and recognize that half of those crooks will end up cutting a deal to lower serving time. Because they can afford it. They can buy off freedom like they'd sniff a line of coke across a whore's chest.  
  
As I write this, the last two rodents inside the bowl are wrestling and writhing. Who gets to eat who? The squirming bodies remind me of something else. Procreation. Vile. Unacceptable, especially between vermin.  
  
Horrified, my thoughts turn back to Daniel. Maybe what the man needs is anger. All he had to offer aside from the skills that make him indispensable as a partner are good intentions.  
  
But good intentions are nothing but the wishes of an innocent child. None of us can afford innocence anymore, not the vermin of this world nor men like me and Daniel. Hard knock life everywhere, even for those who fight the good fight.  
  
I thought about looking for spare mothballs so I can throw them inside the bowl. But I remember again that rats can injest them and still survive.   
  
From this angle, I can tell they fornicated. No longer are they hostile, prepared to eat their own kind. They have a progeny to think of now. I stare at their beady eyes and wonder if they are counting on me to spare the female at least, so they can bring a mouse into this world.   
  
Another vermin. Worth killing then, worth killing now.

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**[@STOODNFIRELIGHT](https://twitter.com/stoodnfirelight) **

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